


Steam

by PangurBan24601



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bannick, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Childbirth, Geralt is just trying to help out, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, I can't stop whumping people, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Lots of F-words, Monster of the Week, Mpreg, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Some Humor, Whump, Yennefer goes full-on Mama Bear, Yennefer really wants to be a mom, bottle episode, cursing, graphic birth, injured geralt, injured jaskier, labor, more Jaskier to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 00:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22126663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PangurBan24601/pseuds/PangurBan24601
Summary: Yennefer finally finds a solution to her infertility issues--by using Geralt to carry her baby. Geralt struggles to give birth to Yennefer's child while also dealing with a Bannick, a monster of the most tedious variety.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 117
Kudos: 357





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so... Is there any Geralt mpreg like at all? I'm just gonna leave this here and see what happens.

“H-how did I— _ngh_!—How did I let you trick me into doing this?”

Geralt’s tone was pained and weary, but there was no real anger in it.

“Come now, I haven’t been able to trick you in a long time.” Yennefer, currently fulfilling the role of big spoon, smiled and ran her fingers through a tangle of wild, white hair, inhaling deeply through her nose. “ _Mmmm_ …You need a bath.”

Geralt groaned in response. “Not now. I don’t feel like moving yet.”

“You will when the pains get stronger.”

 _“Hm.”_ It wasn’t exactly agreement or disagreement.

The witcher was heavy with child, though he did not look it. The babe was carried deep within, behind a thick wall of muscle, and Geralt was not a small man. His labor pains had begun in the early morning and remained slow and steady, that is, _too_ slow and _too_ steady _,_ into the afternoon. He now lay on his side on the four-poster bed he and Yennefer had spent the last several hours in, waiting, rather impatiently now, for any signs of progress.

Yennefer nestled closer against Geralt’s back, reaching her arm over and tucking it around the small, almost unnoticeable swell of his abdomen. She felt the softest _thump_ through the thin fabric of his undershirt.

“It’s still kicking, then,” she commented.

“ _Hm,”_ the witcher agreed. “And too low.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Yennefer said with a tone of authority. She hoped it wasn’t too obviously faked.

It had been ten months since Yennefer performed the risky spell that had resulted in Geralt’s current condition. She had been almost sure it wouldn’t work. Decades of failed spells and dangerous potions had left her with a reproductive system even more damaged than when she had started, and she had retained very little hope for a child of her own. Her initial idea for recruiting Geralt’s help was not well-received. Geralt had laughed, checked her temperature, and sent her to bed to sleep off whatever potion, herb, or liquor had caused this hopefully temporary bout of insanity. But Yennefer had persisted, and less than a week later she had gathered all the necessary materials to implant one of her own eggs into an improvised womb within her undeniably _male_ companion.

Even now, Yennefer could hardly believe the spell had worked. If not for the nausea that Geralt had suffered for nearly five months, the swollen feet he now complained about daily, and the solid kicks she could actually _feel_ through the firm muscle of his belly, she still wouldn’t have believed it.

“How are you feeling?” Yennefer asked, now gently massaging Geralt’s lower back with her thumb.

Geralt did a one-shouldered shrug. “Hurts.”

“Badly? I can mix some herbs for you—”

“No, not too badly,” Geralt interjected quickly.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shifted with a soft, pained grunt, reached behind his back, and interlocked his fingers with hers, squeezing gently.

Geralt had been careful to abstain from herbs, alchemical concoctions, and even most forms of alcohol for the past ten months, though he had allowed Yennefer to put him into a deep sleep one month previous so that she could “create the path for the child’s descent,” as she had put it. All this in the hope that the child would be safely born as perfectly ordinary as any other human child, that is, without any of the extraordinary nonsense that its parents had grown weary of in their extended lifetimes.

The witcher shifted uncomfortably again. “About that bath…” he ventured.

“Of course,” Yennefer said, getting up immediately. She stepped over to the wide barrel in the corner, eyeing it with a frown. It wasn’t much to work with. Seclusion was the best thing the small, abandoned cabin had to offer, but Yennefer had experience on her side. She had worked with humbler elements before with a respectable rate of success. It only took a wave of her hand and the barrel was full of water with puffs of steam rising from it.

“It’s ready,” she said, the tiniest hint of pride in her voice.

“Impressive,” Geralt said, and Yennefer could not tell if he was being sarcastic or not. She chose to assume that was his usual sardonic tone shining through. She moved to help him undress, but he put a hand out.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, pulling at his shirt. “I’m not _entirely_ infirm.” Yes, the sarcasm was certainly intact. He heaped his clothes in a pile next to the bed and stepped into the barrel, sighing audibly as he sank down into it. Yennefer smiled with satisfaction.

“Better, isn’t it?”

“ _Hm._ ” Geralt nodded, his eyes shut.

The door to the cabin suddenly slammed open and a strong gust of icy wind blew in, tossing their hair and sending a chill through the room. Yennefer rushed over to shut the door.

“What was that? Don’t you have this place cloaked?” Geralt asked.

“I did—I do,” Yennefer stammered, her heart suddenly racing with a strange feeling of dread. “No one should be able to see it from the outside— _Geralt, behind you!”_

Yennefer pointed to the cheval mirror beside the bath. The glass reflected the smirking face of an old man with a long white beard, one clawed, inhuman hand raised and waving maliciously. Geralt turned and jerked back on instinct, splashing some water over the edge of the bath. The image was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Yennefer continued to stare in horror. “What in the _fu—!”_

“ _YENNEFER!”_ Geralt cut her off before she could finish the final word. Yennefer turned and gaped at him in consternation, her finger shakily pointing toward the now empty mirror.

“Did you not just see that _fu—”_

 _“I SAW IT!”_ Geralt shouted, again covering up the end of her sentence. “Listen to me Yen, this is extremely important: Do not speak again until I have explained what we are dealing with.”

Yennefer opened her mouth, caught herself, and immediately clamped it shut again. She sat in a chair beside the bath and nodded briskly for him to continue.

Geralt nodded back, then winced, one hand gripping the edge of the bath.

“The creature you saw,” he said, panting, “is called a bannick. They don’t generally like to be seen, so now that he’s made his presence known, he is not likely to reappear…They live in bathhouses or sometimes laundry rooms or anywhere with steam, and they have a tendency to steal infants born in their domain.”

He paused, his grip on the bath’s edge tightening as he suddenly curled in on himself, a soft groan escaping his lips. Finally, he exhaled audibly, his latest pain apparently dissipating. He looked back at Yennefer, who nodded again.

“This bannick must have recently lost his home, probably due to fire. The steam and my labor must have attracted him here. This is the closest alternative to his real home that he could find.”

The witcher’s tone was unmistakably sympathetic. Yennefer regarded him with a curious tilt of her head, her slightly raised brows inquiring, _“And?”_

“He’ll only take on a physical form to attack us. The best way is to simply appease the creature, and he’ll leave us alone. Keep the place clean, leave soap out for him, and above all, _no cursing.”_

“Are-are you serious?” Yennefer asked, incredulous.

Geralt nodded gravely.

Yennefer burst out laughing.

“Are you telling me this bannick is a fu— _ahem,_ I mean, an _eff-_ ing _prude_?!”

“Of the most tedious variety,” Geralt deadpanned.

Yennefer laughed again, louder this time.

“So wait, not a single curse or curse word?”

“I’ve been able to get away with _‘darn’_ on all the others I’ve come across.”

“ _’Darn_ ,’” Yennefer said, as if tasting the word. “Like, _‘Go darn your socks, my boy’_?”

“It works in place of most curses.”

Yennefer searched Geralt’s face, suddenly wondering if this was an elaborate joke that he was playing on her. If so, he had gotten her good.

 _No, he’s serious,_ she realized. He was in too much pain to waste energy on something as ridiculous as this if it wasn’t important.

“Well, then, what will the ‘ _darning’_ thing do if we screw up and lose his favor?” Yennefer asked.

Geralt dropped his head, pressing a frustrated hand to his brow.

“You’re using the word wrong—never mind,” he growled. “I’m not sure what this one will do, but bannick are known to scratch skin off, throw boiling water, and sometimes even strangle those who anger them.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “So we have to deal with this creature’s bull—” Geralt shook his head, eyes widening in panic. “— _er,_ I mean, this creature’s ‘BS’ rules until he leaves or we do?”

“That’s pretty much it.”

“Huh. I guess that’s not so bad,” Yennefer conceded.

Geralt shrugged. “Most townsfolk don’t mind them. It encourages children to behave and not sneak around bathhouses alone.”

“I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior,” Yennefer said, her voice taking on a mischievous quality as she leaned in, her lips now brushing Geralt’s ear.

“Forgive me, Yen, I’m not in the best state talk pretty,” Geralt whispered back. “On account of doing all your hard work for you.”

“And I’m very grateful to you,” Yennefer said, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. She reached for the pitcher on the nearby table and began washing Geralt’s hair with her own liquid soap. Geralt sighed as she massaged it in, then murmured softly, “Is it not enough that I am birthing your child? Must you also cart away the remains of my masculinity with your lilac-scented soaps?”

“I have no choice. Left to your own devices, you would happily smell like onions until the end of time,” Yennefer teased.

“And is that really so bad?” Geralt muttered back.

Yennefer rinsed his hair and began to softly comb through it. She paused when she saw the muscles of his shoulders and back suddenly tense up.

“I-It’s all right. Don’t stop,” Geralt huffed. He curled deeper into himself and groaned.

“ _Shh, shh_ … _Breathe,”_ Yennefer murmured, gently working through a tangled lock of hair.

Geralt’s panting seemed to even out over the course of the next minute. Then he suddenly took in a high-pitched breath.

“Y- _Yen_ ,” he gasped, his voice strained.

“What is it?” she asked, willing a certain amount of calm into her tone.

“I felt something—” he seemed to fish for the word, “— _give_ …inside me.”

Yennefer nodded, still attempting to seem calm. “Your water probably broke. Good… _um…_ good place to have it happen. Your contractions are probably going to worsen soon.”

 _“Hm.”_ Geralt seemed resigned to the inevitability. “Are you done? I think I want to get out. I, uh…I need to move.”

“Sure, of course,” Yennefer said, passing him a towel. Geralt stepped out of the bath and dried off before walking in a slow path around the edges of the room while Yennefer watched him nervously. He suddenly stopped next to the bed and grabbed one of the posts for support, his other hand wrapping around his waist as he doubled over with a sharp cry. Yennefer was at his side in an instant, her hands hovering, unsure if he wanted her touch or would reject it. The pain was clearly worse this time.

Geralt eventually straightened up, but his head remained down, his face hidden by his wet hair.

“I…I don’t think I can do this,” he muttered, bringing one hand to his face.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, of course you can do this!” Yennefer practically yelled. She had known it would be difficult, but she hadn’t expected Geralt to give up this early. What could she possibly do for him now?

“Wha-?” Geralt looked back up at her, as if bewildered by her emphatic response. “Oh. No, I can handle the childbirth, I just meant there’s no way I’m going to be able to do this without cursing. Where’s my sword?”

“Y-Your sword?” Yennefer released a laugh that might have been a sob. “You’re joking, right? You’re in labor. And naked.”

“Don’t need clothes to swing a s—” He stopped short, clutching at his midsection and gasping in pain.

“See? You’re in no condition to be killing anyth—”

 _“Just get me my fucking sword!”_ Geralt snarled.

The response was immediate. The water from the bath was instantly boiling, a large cloud of steam forming.

“Geralt! The bannick!”

“Fuck. Yeah, that definitely angered it. We, uh…We may be fucked.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments, I really appreciate them! Here's some more for ya'll.

“So what do we do now that you’ve pissed it off?” Yennefer said, scowling in the witcher’s direction.

“The bannick’s taken on a physical form, we’ll need to find him. And where’s my _fucking_ sword?!”

The steam rapidly filled the room to the point where neither of them could even see their hands in front of their faces, much less look for a creature that did not want to be seen.

Yennefer reached out and recited an incantation. The steam was all forced from the room in one go, shattering a window on its way out.

“There!” Yennefer shouted, pointing at Geralt’s gear set in a neat pile beside the dining table across the room from the bed. Geralt ran for it, barely skirting around the chairs placed nearby. The steam returned moments later, filling the room even faster than before.

“Geralt?” Yennefer called blindly into the sudden silence of the room.

“Stay back, I don’t want to hit you. And keep away from the bath,” Geralt responded from somewhere to her left.

“You’re going to swing blind?!” Yennefer cried, exasperated.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“ _Of course_ I have a better idea! I’ll keep clearing the room until you’ve either killed it, or I run out of chaos.” Yennefer backed up until she could feel the cabin wall behind her. She recited the incantation again and the room cleared.

Geralt was holding his sword in both hands, his eyes darting about the room in search of the creature. This time the steam returned in seconds.

“Did you see it?” Geralt called out.

“No, I couldn’t find any sign of it. Get ready, you’ll probably only have a second to look this time.”

Geralt’s response was a surprised cry of pain.

 _“Geralt?!”_ Yennefer quickly cast the banishment for a third time. The steam rushed out to reveal Geralt, still holding the sword, but now on one knee. The witcher was bleeding from three long gashes across his chest.

 _“No…”_ Yennefer whispered. She tore her eyes away from the sight, knowing they had precious little time to find the monster before it slashed them both to ribbons. A small patch of red caught her eye; there was a puddle of blood forming between herself and Geralt from some invisible source—no, not invisible. She looked up.

“It’s in the rafters!” she cried. She saw Geralt look up just as the steam returned, blocking out all light. She threw out her hand and aimed a petrification spell where she could only hope the thing would land. She heard an inhuman shriek and a grunt of effort, then silence.

“Geralt?” she could already feel tears pricking at her eyes. _“Damn it!”_ She banished the steam once more.

It was like staring at a sculpture of a combat scene. Geralt was still on one knee, his sword held up in both hands above his bowed head. The bannick was frozen in midair, impaled on Geralt’s sword. One bloody, clawed hand hovered inches from Geralt’s face. For a long moment, neither moved. Then the witcher looked up and released the breath that he had been holding. He pulled his sword free and rolled rather awkwardly out from under the petrified creature. He stood, looked back at Yennefer, and smiled.

“Well done,” he said, as if commenting on a particularly good stew. He beheaded the bannick in one swift motion. Yennefer released the enchantment, and the bannick fell to the floor in a bloody heap. Both she and Geralt stared at it a moment longer. Then,

“Fuck, that was close,” Geralt said, one hand absently reaching for the wounds on his chest. He winced and pulled his hand away, staring at it in surprise. “Oh, shit _,_ ” he muttered, watching the blood drip from his fingers. The wounds were clearly a lot worse than he had thought. He dropped the sword and pressed his hand against his chest again in a feeble effort to stem the heavy bleeding.

“F- _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, his other hand now pressed against his abdomen. He swayed on his feet. “Y-Yen…”

“I’ve got you,” Yennefer said. She rushed over and half-carried, half-dragged him onto the bed. She grabbed a piece of cloth from a pile of clean linens next to the bed and pressed it into his wounds.

“ _Ahh, fuck,_ that hurts,” Geralt protested, one bloodied hand gripping at the bed sheet, the other still held protectively around his belly.

“No surprise there, you almost got yourself _killed_. If I hadn’t petrified it—”

“Yes, yes, I could have died. Do I at least get some credit for stabbing the damned thing while it was in midair? Blind?”

Yennefer scoffed. “After _I_ pointed it out to you!”

“I had a plan,” Geralt growled.

“Did that involve you getting yourself and the baby torn to pieces by a fucking _bathhouse spirit?!_ I mean, how fucking hard is it not to fucking say ‘fuck’?! _”_

Geralt opened his mouth as if to respond, then clamped it shut, wincing in pain. Then, the tiniest hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “Pretty fucking hard, as it turns out.”

Yennefer sighed, guilt now creeping up. “Here, keep pressure on it,” she said, pressing his hand into the cloth covering his wounds. She filled a large bowl on the bedside table with steaming water, then dug into her bag and pulled out a needle, catgut, and a small vial of Swallow potion.

“Drink this,” she said, uncorking the vial.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Geralt said.

Yennefer suppressed a growl of frustration. “Please don’t fight me on this. You’ve already lost a lot of blood and you’re going to need every bit of your strength to give birth.”

“Yen, we have no idea what these potions could do to the baby. I can wait until after it is born. I’ll drink whatever you want me to then.”

Yennefer took a deep breath in through her nose, held, then released. Much as she loathed to admit it, he had a point. They really couldn’t know what the effects would be.

“Fine.”

* * *

Geralt lay remarkably still and quiet as Yennefer cleaned, stitched, and dressed his wounds, though she could see from his face that he was obviously in a great deal of pain. She was almost afraid to ask about the contractions at this point; how many had come and gone without comment as she had worked on his injuries?

“I’m sorry for getting upset,” Yennefer said, breaking the silence that had shrouded them for the past half hour. “I was so sure that it was going to kill you—that it _had_ killed you.” She tied off the last of the bandages around his chest.

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Geralt murmured. He reached up and caressed a lock of Yennefer’s hair. “Your baby’s going to be so beautiful.”

“I’ve not heard that line before.” Yennefer leaned in and brushed her lips softly across Geralt’s. She suddenly frowned, sitting back up. “Your lips are like ice.”

“ _Mm_...Kinky. Tell me more about my lips.”

She resisted the urge to smack him. “I’m serious, Geralt. Do you feel cold?”

“I’m naked, my hair is wet, and there’s a draught from the window you broke. Yes, I’m cold. Hold me?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes and grabbed the pile of clothes, tossing them beside him on the bed. “Get dressed before you catch a cold.” She crossed the room and started a fire in the fireplace. Geralt pulled on the loose, white shirt and tied his wet hair out of his face.

“I’m not going to bother with pants,” he called to Yennefer as she poked at the fire.

“Kinky,” she called back. “Tell me more about your pants.” Moments later she turned to see him curled up on his left side, both arms wrapped around his right thigh, holding it up.

“Geralt?”

“I tried to warn you,” Geralt gasped.

“Warn me about what?!” Yennefer cried, rushing over. “Are—are you _pushing_?”

“ _Uhh_ …Maybe?” He took in a sharp breath and curled deeper around his belly. “Yes— _Uhn!_ —Yes, I think so.”

“In that position?”

“It felt…right?”

Geralt let go of his leg and slowly uncurled until he was fully relaxed on his back. “I’m pretty sure that didn’t do anything,” he mumbled.

“I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I need to check you,” Yennefer said.

“Hm?” Geralt grunted, not even bothering to look at her.

“I said I need to check you. We’re not even sure if you should be pushing yet.”

Golden eyes fluttered open and narrowed in Yennefer’s direction. “It felt like I should push, so I did.”

“I understand that. Now bend your knees for me.” She began scrubbing her hands in a fresh bowl of steaming water.

Geralt sighed in frustration but obeyed, dragging his heels up as close to his buttocks as he comfortably could. Yennefer’s warm hands were suddenly on his knees, gently pressing them apart. Geralt turned his head to the side, grimacing at the indignity of it.

“I know, Geralt. I’m sorry. This is going to feel a little uncomfortable.”

Geralt nodded curtly, eyes still locked on the wall on the other side of the room. He gasped and arched his back at the sudden intrusion.

“Try not to squirm,” Yennefer said, working quickly. “Okay, done.” She turned to begin scrubbing her hands again as Geralt closed his legs and sat back up.

“Well?” he demanded.

“You shouldn’t be pushing yet. Your body isn’t ready. We’re going to need to give it some more time,” Yennefer explained, gently.

Geralt opened and closed his mouth a few times, glancing about the room as if he was searching for something. Then he suddenly began blinking rapidly, as if holding back tears.

“Hey, hey, come on now, it’s all going to be okay, we just need to be patient.” Yennefer quickly got behind him and began massaging his shoulders.

“Fuck patience,” Geralt said, hoarsely, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes. “This _hurts,_ Yen. And it’s exhausting. I just want it to be over, sooner rather than later.”

“I know, I know,” Yennefer whispered into his neck. “I know it’s hard, but you’ve done so well so far. I don’t want you to injure yourself or the baby by taking things too fast.”

“It’s a little too late to be worrying about injuring myself,” Geralt grumbled.

Yennefer did not respond, just continued to knead the tense muscle of Geralt’s shoulders.

Just when it seemed like the excitement of the past hour was dying down and Geralt might finally get some _goddamn peace,_ something solid struck the side of the cabin with a loud _thunk!_ A very human string of curses began to ring out in an all-too-familiar tenor voice. Geralt turned and met Yennefer’s eyes, both dreading the same thing, but neither sure if they were right. Finally, Geralt rolled his eyes and called out loudly, _“Jaskier?”_

“Geralt?! Is that you? This invisible wall just broke my fucking nose!”

Geralt heaved a deep sigh.

 _“Fuck."_


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt and Yennefer exchanged pained looks as Jaskier's voice continued to carry through the wall.

“Geralt? Look, I know you’re there, you may as well undo whatever enchantment you’re hiding under.”

Jaskier started pounding on the side of the cloaked cabin. He whistled.

“Good bit of resonance this invisible wall has. Is it a shed? A barn? A greenhouse? An outhouse? It’s an outhouse, isn’t it? My apologies, I didn’t know you were so shy you needed a cloaking spell to take a shit. _Fuck_ , my nose hurts. Geralt? _Geralt!”_

“For once in your life would you shut _up,_ Jaskier,” Geralt muttered under his breath. He looked to Yennefer, who just shrugged and said, “Well, we very well can’t leave him out there now. The idiot will moan and carry on until the whole countryside knows where we are.”

“Is there really no other option?” Geralt asked, real desperation now seeping into his voice.

Yennefer shook her head. “Not unless you want me to knock him out and leave him for dead.”

Geralt seemed to give the idea genuine consideration. Yennefer glared.

“He’s your _friend,_ ” she reminded him.

“I’m in _labor._ I can’t be held responsible for the bards I murder, friend or not.”

Yennefer just smiled. “Cover yourself up. I’ll go get him.”

* * *

“—puts a fucking invisible latrine in a secluded wood this far off the beaten path—” the bard was grumbling to himself while pressing a bloodied handkerchief to his nose when the door swung open, just barely missing him. He looked up and blinked in surprise as the cabin faded into view. Yennefer poked her head out and hissed in his direction.

“ _Jaskier!_ Get over here, and _be quiet!_ ”

“Yennefer! You’re here too!” He took two steps toward Yennefer and she grabbed him by the front of his silk shirt and yanked him inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Hey, easy on the vestments, I just barely managed to keep the blood off of them!” Jaskier protested. He checked his shirt for loose buttons, carefully pulled the handkerchief away from his face, and began to take in his new surroundings. “Holy shit, what the fuck is _that?”_

“Doesn’t matter, it’s dead,” Geralt growled.

“Geralt!” Jaskier seemed to immediately forget about the heap of deceased monster in the middle of the room as he rushed over to his friend like a dog reuniting with his master.

“Jaskier. What are you doing here?” Geralt made with no attempt to hide his annoyance. The witcher was sitting upright, his back supported by several pillows stacked against the bedframe. A thin, white bedsheet now covered his lower half.

“I was roaming off the beaten path. I had grown weary of the crowds and adoration of my everyday life and began to long for the solitude that accompanies a road less traveled,” Jaskier recited as if he had rehearsed it. His performance might have appeared more sophisticated if his nose wasn’t still sluggishly bleeding. 

“Spare us the dramatics, bard. Who did you piss off this time?” Geralt demanded.

Jaskier grinned sheepishly. “I stole a kiss—well, perhaps a little bit more than that—from the wife of someone I shouldn’t like to face in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Was it worth it?” Yennefer asked, amused.

“Oh, absolutely! That woman needed some spice in her life. He didn’t appreciate her like I did. But anyway, I thought to ask after the two of you in the next town I came across and before I even got there, here you are! You know what they say about destiny, old friend—”

“That it has a twisted sense of humor?” Geralt offered, tiredly.

“You wound me, Geralt,” Jaskier said, one hand on his chest as if Geralt had just run him through.

Geralt smirked briefly in the bard’s direction before wincing as the next contraction squeezed at his insides. He tried and failed to suppress a soft whimper.

Jaskier dropped the affected airs immediately.

“You’re injured,” he accused. He eyed the pile of bloodied linens beside the bed and the bleached bandages visible beneath Geralt’s loose shirt. "Badly.” His tone was concerned. Geralt glared at him, as if annoyed to be reminded.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Yennefer cut in. Geralt shot her a warning look, but she ignored it. “He’s going to find out eventually, it might as well be now,” she reasoned.

“What am I missing here?” Jaskier looked from Yennefer to Geralt. The witcher crossed his arms and looked away, a deep scowl on his face.

“Geralt and I are…expecting,” Yennefer began.

Jaskier lit up.

“That’s wonderful, Yennefer!” He ran over and caught the mage up in a bear hug. Yennefer laughed with genuine joy.

“How long have you known?” the bard asked. His hands hovered inches from her flat stomach. Yennefer stifled an amused snort.

“Here’s the thing,” she began again. She looked to Geralt for help, but he clearly wasn’t going to offer any. “It’s Geralt.” Jaskier raised an eyebrow as if to say _‘And?’_ “That is, Geralt is the one who’s expecting,” Yennefer amended.

“Geralt is…having your baby with someone else? Did you manage to claim your own Child of Surprise?” Jaskier questioned, oblivious.

“No, no, you’re not understanding me,” Yennefer tried again. “You see, _Geralt_ is the one who’s pregnant.”

Jaskier snorted. “You should probably leave the joking up to the jesters, my sexy mage friend. Your talents lie elsewhere.”

At that moment, Geralt reached out and grasped Jaskier’s arm, jerking him toward the bed and pressing his hand against a currently-contracting belly.

Jaskier went pale. “F-feels like you’ve got a bad case of indigestion,” he said with a shaky laugh.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Geralt replied, dryly.

* * *

“Right, so, if I’m getting this right, _you,”_ Jaskier pointed across the room at Geralt, “let the sexy mage,” he pointed at Yennefer, “put her baby inside you with…magic?”

“In the simplest terms, yes. That’s pretty much it,” Yennefer confirmed. “Now hold still.”

Jaskier, seated beside Yennefer in front of the fire, flinched as the mage began dabbing at his nose and chin with a damp cloth. He frowned, as if deep in thought, then said, “…Can you explain again from the beginning?”

“I’ve explained it three times!” Yennefer threw up her hands, exasperated.

“I know, I know, but it’s just so…impossible.”

“Oh, it’s possible,” Geralt grunted. “Th-this is about as f-fucking real as it gets.” He curled forward and moaned, clutching at his midsection with both hands. He wasn’t even trying to hide the pain anymore.

“…And already in _labor_. How long has it gone on?” Jaskier asked.

“It’s been a good twelve hours,” Yennefer said. “…And it may be a few more.”

Geralt’s growled in frustration at the thought of it.

“And he’s going to be able to…you know…” Jaskier made a hand motion, as if he was making an offering. “Er…bring forth?”

Yennefer brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a chuckle. Geralt did not seem nearly as amused.

“Yes,” Yennefer responded, “For the health and safety of Geralt and the child, I made sure that it would be able to exit his womb as naturally as possible. Now _hold still._ I can’t clean it with you constantly talking.”

“It’s broken, isn’t it?” Jaskier said, ignoring Yennefer’s commands yet again. “How bad does it look? Is it a sexy kind of broken, like, _‘Wow, that guy’s seen some action,’_ or is it ugly broken, like, _“Wow, that creep must have deserved it’_?”

Yennefer laughed. “Shut up! And no, it’s not broken, just a bit bruised, I think.”

“Oh, thank god for that. Vain as it may sound, a man in my profession can’t afford to lose his good looks.”

“Yes, God forbid you should have to display _talent_ instead,” Geralt quipped from across the room.

“I know it’s just the pain making you grumpy, so I’ll forgive you for that one,” Jaskier called back.

“That’s done it, you’re all cleaned up,” Yennefer said, rinsing out the bloodied cloth in one of several steaming bowls of water.

“Thanks, Yennefer,” Jaskier said, poking experimentally at his nose and wincing. “Well, I wouldn’t dare to impose for one minute more on a gathering as intimate as this one, so now is as good a time as ever to take my leave. I wish you all the best with your _insane_ ventures.” Jaskier stood up and started heading for the door.

Geralt, momentarily distracted by his latest contraction, looked up sharply.

 _“Wait!”_ he cried. He stopped himself, as if he suddenly realized how desperate he must have sounded. “I mean— _er—_ are you sure you’ll be safe out there? It will be night soon…”

Jaskier chuckled. “It’s all right, my friend, I’ll be sure to keep this hiding place a secret. I am capable of discretion, you know.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Geralt said, looking to Yennefer for help. She wasn't particularly surprised to see him react this way. As annoying as Jaskier could be, she could not deny that he had a way of putting Geralt at ease, even if it was just through meaningless banter.

“Jaskier, I think both of us would feel better if you stayed,” Yennefer said.

The bard looked from one to the other. “Y-you want me to stay for the birth?” He sounded both thrilled and horrified. Yennefer nodded.

“It would mean a lot to both of us.”

Jaskier swallowed and nodded enthusiastically.

“Then I will. _Of course_ I will. I am at your service," he said, bowing with a flourish. "But first...Could you please explain what the fuck that dead monster thing is?”

* * *

The next hour passed quietly with few words exchanged. Jaskier busied himself with tuning and polishing his lute while Yennefer read a book, pausing from time to time to check on Geralt. The witcher’s contractions were becoming almost unbearable, and he had begun to writhe in the bed from the near-constant agony. Finally, he could stand it no more and got up to walk again, pacing about the room impatiently while holding a sheet around himself in one hand like a toga.

After twenty minutes of watching Geralt circle about the room, Jaskier said “How about a song then?” He strummed one chord and Geralt interrupted with a sharp cry of pain. The witcher let the thin sheet fall from his hand and dropped into a deep squat beside the bed, holding on to one of the posts for support. Jaskier immediately set the lute aside and hurried over Geralt. Yennefer looked up from her book.

“Surely my lute playing isn't _that_ bad. Are you all right?” Jaskier asked. He knelt down and placed his right hand tentatively on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Geralt snarled, throwing his free hand out and shoving Jaskier away. The bard fell heavily on his left elbow with a surprised cry of pain.

“Jaskier!” Yennefer set the book down and ran to help him up.

“I— _fuck!—_ I’m sorry,” Geralt gasped, barely able to speak through the pain. “I didn’t mean to— _ngh!—_ Is he all right? _Fuck,_ I’m sorry— _Shit!_ ” His eyes fell shut and he bore down, knees spread wide.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jaskier said, rubbing the sore elbow as Yennefer checked him over. “He’s acting a bit like a she-wolf whelping, isn’t he?”

“That’s not a thing,” Geralt groaned. He gasped several times to catch his breath, and then bore down again, a low moan escaping his throat. “ _Fuck,_ that burns…” After several seconds, he straightened back up, exhaling slowly.

“Jaskier, are you all right?” Geralt asked, much more steadily this time.

Jaskier nodded, “Of course. It was my own fault—I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. “I shouldn't have let instinct take over like that. It won’t happen again.”

“Geralt, were you pushing?” Yennefer asked, quietly.

Geralt nodded. He climbed back onto the bed and allowed Yennefer to examine his nether regions again. Jaskier blushed and turned his head away, feigning interest in some knick-knack hanging on the wall.

“Don’t act so embarrassed, bard,” Geralt said. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

“True, but the last time I gazed upon your glorious man-parts there wasn’t a babe trying to escape from the space beneath them,” Jaskier said.

“Suit yourself,” Geralt sighed.

“You’re ready,” Yennefer announced. “More than ready; the head is already engaged.”

“Y-you can see it?” Geralt gasped.

“Nearly. It’s just there. You’ll be feeling some painful stretching on the next few pushes.”

Jaskier looked like he was going to be sick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, fair warning: this chapter gets kind of graphic and dark. BUT I promise everything will be okay, and we'll get back to light fluffy stuff in the next chapter. Pinky swear.

Geralt of Rivia felt cheated.

After over twelve hours of being able to do nothing but pant and groan and curse, he felt he had earned at least a little more control over his labor’s final stages. Unfortunately, the child within seemed insistent on taking its bloody time. Half an hour of strong pushing contractions and Geralt had almost nothing to show for it. It stung terribly between his legs where the head was pressing forward ever-so-slowly, but every time he reached down to check he was dismayed with how little progress he had actually made. His frustration was mounting by the second.

He now squatted beside the bed, his elbows resting on the mattress and his head bowed between them. Yennefer was sitting nearby, ready to assist if requested, but also aware that Geralt would prefer to manage this part on his own for as long as possible. Jaskier, not keen to get attacked again, stayed out of the way, though he kept his eyes on his laboring friend.

Breathing steadily, Geralt waited impatiently for the next pain. By some cruel irony they seemed to take longer to arrive now that he actually needed them. When it finally came, it was like a hammer on an anvil. Geralt didn’t bother to stifle the sharp cry of pain that now accompanied nearly every contraction. It _hurt,_ damn it _._ There was no point in pretending otherwise. He bore down with a low moan, his face turning red with the strain. The child’s head pressed forward, painfully stretching his skin. The contraction dissipated after several seconds and he let up, gasping to catch his breath. He could already feel the head receding back inside.

“Damn it, what the fuck am I supposed to do when it keeps going back in?” he growled in Yennefer’s direction.

“It’s coming out a little more each time. You’re making progress, it’s just slow,” Yennefer said, trying to sound encouraging without being patronizing. It was an extremely delicate balance with Geralt’s current emotional state.

“How can you be sure of that?” Geralt said, bitterly.

Yennefer suppressed a sigh that would have only served to anger him. “Do you want me to look again?”

Geralt nodded. “And I want to try on my side again.”

He pulled himself stiffly onto the bed and lay there waiting for the next contraction. When the pain returned he rolled onto his left side and took several fast, gasping breaths before hooking his right arm under his right knee and pulling it up to his chest. He curled inward and pushed hard, his chin pressing down and his eyes squeezing shut. Yennefer placed herself in front of him, watching for progress.

“That’s good, Geralt, I can just see the top of its head now.”

“That’s…That’s it? Only the top?” Geralt asked, bewildered. He could have sworn it was nearly at full crown.

“You can see the head coming?” Jaskier said, paling. They ignored him.

“It’s more than you had a half hour ago,” Yennefer offered.

“Almost nothing isn’t much more than nothing,” Geralt grumbled, rolling onto his back.

“…Can I see?” Jaskier asked.

Yennefer looked to Geralt, who gave a shrug that she took to mean he was too far gone to care. She nodded to Jaskier, who moved to the foot of the bed to take a look.

“You can see much more of it when he’s pushing,” Yennefer said, matter-of-factly.

“Don’t be vulgar,” Geralt said. “Can’t you— _ugh!—_ can’t you see he’s about to be sick?”

Jaskier was indeed turning frighteningly pale by the minute.

“I need you to keep breathing,” Yennefer said.

“I’m fine, I know how to fucking breathe,” Geralt said, still lying on his back.

“Not _you_. Jaskier,” she said. Jaskier stared at her in confusion.

“You, Jaskier. _You_ need to breathe,” she clarified, sweeping her hand toward and away from herself.

Jaskier nodded and shakily released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“I—I think I need to sit down,” he said, reaching for and nearly missing the chair next to the bed. He awkwardly sat down and started taking deep breaths.

“Everything all right?” Geralt asked.

“Of course! Everything’s fine. My best friend is about to push a fucking _person_ out of his body. In front of me. Maybe give me a minute, all right?”

“Do you have a problem with blood?” Yennefer asked, curious.

“No, I have a problem with my friend bleeding. I have a problem with him hurting. This—this is _insane_ what you two are doing. People _die_ in childbirth.” Jaskier’s voice broke and he looked away. The room went suddenly still and silent but for Geralt’s ragged breathing.

“…Who did you lose?” Yennefer’s voice was quiet.

“Does it really matter?” Jaskier said, briskly wiping at his eyes.

“No,” she admitted, “I guess it doesn’t.”

“Jaskier. You don’t have to stay,” Geralt said. “We can manage just the two of us. You don’t— _ngh!_ ” He suddenly grit his teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you kidding?” Jaskier said. “You’re my friends.” He tentatively reached for Geralt’s hand and was surprised when the witcher accepted the grip, holding on tightly. Jaskier smiled, the slightest bit of color returning to his cheeks.

“A blessing of unicorns couldn’t drag me away now.”

* * *

Another hour passed with painfully slow but steady progress. Geralt was becoming more distressed by the minute, constantly shifting positions, pushing when he could find the strength, and panting when he couldn’t. Most of his hair had come untied and was hanging in his face, several strands messily clinging to cheeks.

He was lying on his back again, knees bent and splayed, when he took in a sudden sharp breath and pushed with a great, heaving moan. This time was different. The stretching, splitting pain reached a crescendo. It was close… _so close!_ He snarled in frustration when the contraction abandoned him, but he refused to stop pushing. He reached out blindly for something to hold on to and Jaskier took his hand again.

“ _Yen,_ ” Geralt gasped, “ _H-help_ … _me…”_

It was all Yennefer needed to hear. She sat on her knees at the foot of the bed and placed her hands between his legs, ready to support the child’s head when it finally passed through.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” she said.

She didn’t have long to wait; with a bellow of agony Geralt bent forward and pushed hard enough for the widest point of the head to finally slip past the tightly stretched skin. Gasping, he fell back heavily against the pillows, momentarily stunned by the intensity of the ordeal his body had just been through.

“The head is out,” Yennefer announced “Just a few more pushes, love, you’re so close now!”

Geralt just grunted in response, temporarily unable to form coherent words. He started to give a feeble push at the next contraction, but was forced to give up when he couldn’t find the energy. He spent the next couple of minutes resting and building his strength for the final moments of his labor while Yennefer and Jaskier spoke gentle encouragements to him.

He knew something was wrong almost immediately after he began his next push.

“It’s stuck,” he gasped, panic creeping up. “I can’t— _fuck!_ —It—it can’t get out!” He tried pushing again, but was met with the same excruciating resistance.

“Calm down. I need you to breathe,” Yennefer ordered. She had seen the way the head strained forward and then back again. The midwives had warned her about this possibility.

“Turn over,” Yennefer said, trying to hide her own rising panic. “Let’s get you pushing on your hands and knees.”

Geralt reached between his legs and held the head steady as he carefully turned over onto all fours.

“That’s it,” Yennefer encouraged. “All right now, big push whenever you’re ready.”

Geralt was already bearing down before the words had left her mouth. Yennefer watched the child’s head strain forward, then recede back again in the exact same way it had before.

“Again,” she ordered, the desperation now seeping into her tone despite her best efforts.

“Yen—” Geralt began to protest, but she was having none of it.

“Again. Now. _Push,”_ she repeated. Geralt gave another huge heave, but he may as well have done nothing for all the good it did. The shifted position hadn’t worked; the child’s head was still stuck firmly in the same place between his legs, and it refused to budge any further, its shoulders locked inside.

Yennefer felt full-on horror wash over her. She tried to remember all the remaining options the midwives had told her. She tried gently pulling, but it quickly became clear that to pull any harder would likely kill the baby faster. What option remained?

She recalled the midwives’ words, _“If the mother is lost, the living child may be cut from her womb. To attempt this thing on a living mother will almost always result in her exceedingly painful death.”_

Yennefer shook the thought from her head. The White Wolf was stronger than a human, but he had already lost a lot of blood from his earlier injuries and had refused to take a healing potion. To cut the child out now would surely kill him, and she was _not_ going to let him die from this.

But it was _hopeless_. She was out of options. The child was going to suffocate in a matter of minutes. Geralt would be forced to give birth to a dead baby, and Yennefer would have to deliver it, probably in pieces. Yennefer felt her insides clench at the thought, and she fought down the bile that was rising in her throat. How had everything gone so wrong?

“What’s wrong, Yennefer? Is it still coming?” Jaskier asked, his hand now gently laid on Geralt’s back.

Yennefer suddenly realized that she hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“H-help me turn him back over,” she said, her voice audibly trembling. Geralt groaned softly and allowed his companions to take over, turning him until he was resting on his sacrum again, his back propped up against Jaskier’s chest, the way a birthing woman might be held by her husband. If it was embarrassing for him, the bard showed no sign of it. He unashamedly fulfilled the role, reaching on either side to take both of Geralt’s hands in his own. Geralt wordlessly accepted Jaskier’s grip and held on for dear life, his knuckles rapidly turning white.

“Yen, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” Geralt begged.

Yennefer couldn’t help it; she was already crying, silent tears spilling down her cheeks in waves. One or both of them was lost, and Yennefer would not allow Geralt to sacrifice himself for her selfish wish, regardless of the guilt this baby’s death would leave her with for the rest of her life. She had finally learned her lesson. Fate had won.

She would never try to have a baby again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for leaving you all with such a horrific cliffhanger last time, so here’s the next bit, which turned out a little longer than expected! Thank you so much for your comments so far, they really make my day!

“Yen, talk to me,” Geralt tried again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Yennefer opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. This would devastate him. Ten months of suffering from morning sickness, relentless nausea, aching back, swollen feet, not to mention almost a full day labor—and all for naught. But that was nothing compared to the emotional pain he would suffer from losing the child that he had carried for the better part of year. Yennefer shuddered in horror, remembering the traumatic extraction that would now have to happen. At least she might be able to convince him to let her drug him into a stupor so he could suffer one less painful memory. There would be no escaping it herself.

“Yen, _please,”_ Geralt implored. “Please just say something!”

Yennefer finally met his eyes, took a breath, and choked on it with a sob. She wished she could bear the pain all on her own for just a little longer. She couldn’t bring herself to share it with the man she loved. As much as the pain was killing her, the thought of passing it on to Geralt was unthinkable.

“Yennefer!” It was Jaskier’s voice shouting at her now. “Tell us what’s happening. What do we need to do?”

 _Jaskier_. She couldn’t face Geralt, but she could talk to Jaskier. Yennefer swallowed and began to explain in a detached, sterile tone.

“Geralt’s hips are too narrow to pass the child naturally. Its shoulder is caught behind his pelvic bone. The cord is likely being pinched in between. The baby—” her voice broke. “The baby won’t be able to breathe. It…It won’t survive.”

“So— _ngh!—_ so what do we do now? Break it?” Geralt asked. Yennefer blinked at him.

“What?”

“My pelvis. You’re going to have to break it, right?” Geralt reasoned, as if the answer was obvious. Which, come to think of it, _it was._

“I—yes! That—that might work! Oh, gods, Geralt, you big, stupid, bloody genius!” The hope rushed into Yennefer’s chest so fast it hurt. How could she have been so stupid? It might _live!_ They _both_ might live!

“Have you both totally lost your minds?” Jaskier asked. “We’re not even going to talk about how crazy that idea is?”

“I can heal,” Geralt reminded him. “The baby can’t.” He looked back at Yennefer, and she could see the fear in his eyes. “Make it quick. _Please,_ ” he implored.

Yennefer nodded and grabbed a clean wash rag and wadded it up. “You’re going to want to bite down on this,” she said, placing it between Geralt’s teeth.

“Hold him steady,” she ordered in Jaskier’s direction. The bard nodded back at her, renewing his firm grip of Geralt’s hands. Yennefer looked back at Geralt, her eyes shining with fresh tears at what she was about to do. “Are you ready?”

The witcher nodded. “Jus’ do it,” he said, grimacing through a mouthful of damp cloth.

“I’m so sorry,” Yennefer whispered. She carefully positioned her hands and then used her chaos to give a mighty shove. The cracking sound was terrible. Geralt screamed in agony, his fingernails drawing blood from the soft flesh of Jaskier’s hands.

Yennefer let go, breathless. That had done it. It _had_ to have done it. She reached down and supported the child’s head with both hands.

“This is it, Geralt, big push now,” she said. Nothing happened.

Yennefer looked up. “Geralt?”

The witcher’s head had lolled to the side, his eyes shut. _Shit!_ He had passed out from the shock.

“Jaskier, you have to wake him! _Now_!”

Jaskier nodded and pulled his bloodied right hand free. He smacked Geralt across the face once. Twice. The third time, Geralt came to with a ragged gasp.

“Wha—? _Ugh, fuck!_ What just happened?”

”You fainted,” Yennefer explained.

“Why does my face sting?”

“That not important. You need to push. _Now._ ”

 _“Fuck.”_ Geralt complied, bending forward with a great, heaving moan. The child finally, blessedly, _moved._

“Yes! Like that, just like that! Keep going!” Yennefer cried. The first shoulder appeared, and the baby began to turn. Geralt fell back against Jaskier’s chest, struggling to catch his breath.

“Just one more big push, you’re so close!” Yennefer encouraged. 

Geralt moaned and gave a feeble shove. He couldn’t hold onto it and fell back again.

“Again,” Yennefer said.

“I—I don’t know if I can,” Geralt said in a small, broken voice.

“Come on, Geralt,” Jaskier spoke softly in his ear. “I’ve written songs about the impossible things you’ve done. This is just one more. _Push._ ”

Geralt took in a deep breath and cried out as he gave one more enormous heave of effort. The second shoulder slipped free. Yennefer gave a gentle tug and the rest of the child slid out in a rush of blood and birth fluids.

“It’s here, it’s here,” Yennefer said, gently, though she was terrified for the pale, grayish child in her hands. She quickly unwrapped the cord from its neck and got to work clearing its nose and mouth.

“Yennefer?” Jaskier’s voice was quiet.

“She’s not breathing yet,” Yennefer said, assuming Jaskier was asking after the child. “I need to clear her airways.”

“Yennefer, he’s bleeding.”

Yennefer stole a glance up from her ministrations. Jaskier was right; blood continued to trickle from between Geralt’s legs, contributing to a growing red stain on the sheets beneath him. On top of that, more blood was beginning to seep through the bandages on his chest where the stitching had undoubtedly torn out. Geralt had lost consciousness again.

 _“Damn it,”_ she said. She went back to stimulating the limp child in her lap. It still wasn’t breathing.

 _“_ Yennefer, _please,”_ Jaskier said in a pained voice.

“Go in my bag. There are a few vials of Swallow potion,” she said without looking up.

Jaskier nodded. “Right.”

* * *

Jaskier laid Geralt down and dug into the bag beside the bed. He came up with four small glass vials, which he set on the bedside table. He uncorked the first one and lifted Geralt back up, carefully pouring the potion into his mouth. The witcher suddenly coughed and jerked awake, spitting most of the potion on his front.

“Jaskier…Wh—what did I miss…?” The shock and blood loss had left him in a state of exhausted confusion.

“Nothing much. You had a baby. I need you to drink this potion,” Jaskier said, another vial already in hand.

“It’s quiet. It’s—it’s not crying. Why isn’t it crying?”

“Yennefer’s helping her breathe right now,” Jaskier explained. “Drink this. _Please._ ”

“H-her?”

“A girl,” Jaskier confirmed. “Yennefer will take care of her, but you need help too. Open your mouth.”

Geralt turned his head away. “T-The cord. It needs to be cut first.”

“ _Damn it_ , Geralt, we need to stop your bleeding _now_ ,” Jaskier said, his fist tightening around the vial in frustration.

“Just do it,” Yennefer said, still not looking up from her work. “Tie it off and cut it.”

“With what?” Jaskier asked.

“I don’t fucking know, just improvise!” Yennefer shouted.

Jaskier whimpered and searched his pockets. He pulled out a forgotten handful of coiled gut strings.

* * *

The child in Yennefer’s hands was pale, smeared with blood and vernix, and as still as the grave. She had used a bit of chaos to heat the towel, but vigorously rubbing the newborn had done nothing.

 _“It’s quiet. It’s—it’s not crying. Why isn’t it crying?”_ She vaguely heard Geralt’s trembling voice—Good. He was still alive. Jaskier could still help him. The baby needed her undivided attention. _Still not breathing._ How long had it been? Yennefer realized she was panicking. Again. She tried to slow her mind. _I already cleared the airways. Stimulation isn’t working. She needs to be resuscitated._

With trembling fingers, she carefully laid the newborn down and began firm compressions on its chest using her thumbs. After a few compressions, she leaned over and blew a small breath of air into its tiny lungs. She went back to the compressions, creating a steady rhythm. _One, two, three…_

_“T-The cord. It needs to be cut first.”_

Yennefer stole a quick glance up. Geralt was refusing alchemical treatment until the last tie between himself and the child was cut. _Noble fool,_ she thought. She heard Jaskier curse in response, and she heard herself issuing instructions at the bard for cutting the cord. She may have shouted at him when he hesitated. No time for that. Jaskier _had_ to help Geralt, because Yennefer couldn’t do both. She was the child’s only hope now.

 _One, two, three…_ She blew another breath into its tiny airways.

 _“Come on, little one. Breathe,”_ she whispered. And the infant obeyed.

* * *

_“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”_ Jaskier laid Geralt back down and quietly panicked while tying two gut strings around a section of the cord, leaving a small space between them. He pulled a small knife from his boot and winced as he made the cut. He returned the knife to its place and grabbed the vial of potion. He lifted his friend up once more.

“The cord is cut. Drink this. _NOW_.”

Geralt finally obeyed. He swallowed with a tight grimace at what must have been an awful flavor. Jaskier picked up the next vial. “Again. You need to drink another right away.” Geralt nodded and allowed Jaskier to pour a second potion down his throat. Jaskier was relieved to note a small amount of color was already returning to Geralt’s ashen cheeks.

They heard a tiny, wet gasp. Then another, louder one. Then a newborn wailed.

* * *

Yennefer sobbed with relief at the squalling infant now wriggling in her arms.

“You’re here. You’re all right and you’re _here,_ ” she murmured. She looked up to see Geralt still held in Jaskier’s arms. His eyes were dark with exhaustion and his skin was pale and clammy from the blood loss, but he was _alive_. He offered her a weak, reassuring smile. Yennefer breathed a relieved sigh and got to work cleaning and drying her newborn daughter.

Jaskier stacked the pillows back up against the head of the bed and helped Geralt lean back against them. With the witcher settled as well as he could be for the moment, Jaskier got up to subtly wash and bandage his own injured hands. Yennefer returned to the bed with the baby wrapped up in a warm towel.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Like I’ve been chewed up and swallowed by a selkiemore. Then regurgitated and used as a ball in a game of palant played by dragons.”

“So nothing you’re not already used to,” Yennefer said with a smile. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Of course I do,” Geralt said, reaching out with shaking hands.

Yennefer carefully placed the whimpering infant against his chest. Geralt held it in his arms and tried and failed to blink back tears. He took in a trembling breath.

“I thought for sure she was dead.” He examined a perfect, tiny-fingered hand.

“So did I. And you weren’t doing too well yourself.”

Geralt winced and nodded in agreement. The potion had helped stop the bleeding between his legs and given him some strength, but the broken bones would take longer to mend. It was going to be a slow and painful recovery.

“If Jaskier hadn’t been here…” Yennefer trailed off and met the bard’s eyes. “Thank you for saving him,” she said. Geralt looked at Jaskier and nodded in agreement. Jaskier seemed suddenly uncomfortable and looked away, running a bandaged hand through his hair.

“All I did was force feed him a couple of potions…” Jaskier began.

“You kept him calm and helped him when I couldn’t.” Yennefer smiled. “And how did you come up with something to tie off the cord so quickly?”

Jaskier blushed. “Just a troubadour trick of the trade,” he said, holding up one of the strings. “Catgut. Apparently perfectly suited to midwifery in a pinch.”

“You tied off the cord with _lute strings?”_ Yennefer laughed out loud.

“Expensive ones, I might add,” said Jaskier. “So, you know…Toss a coin to your midwife.”

“I’ll be sure to repay the favor,” Geralt said, amused. He shifted suddenly and made a pained noise. “Yen, could you—?”

“Right.” Yennefer quickly gathered the baby back into her arms and Geralt pushed himself up, groaning softly.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, looking between the two of them.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Yennefer said. “Here, hold her for me.” She pressed the child into the bard’s arms then got to work shifting the sheets around Geralt’s legs.

Geralt groaned again. “I need to push.”

“You fucking _what_? A-another one??” Jaskier stammered.

“ _Fuck_ no,” Geralt said, and he laughed despite the pain.

“The afterbirth, you idiot, and stop cursing in front of the baby, both of you,” Yennefer said, rolling her eyes. She looked back at Geralt. “Go ahead and push now,” she added, gently.

“The after—? _Ohh,_ ” Jaskier said. “I’ll just, _uh,_ I’ll just be over here,” he said, carrying the baby with him over to the chair next to the fire. “We’ll just let your parents take care of the unpleasantness that you left behind,” he said to the baby, gently poking her tiny nose.

A few soft gasps and light pushes later, the afterbirth was safely delivered and Yennefer began to clean and re-stitch the bannick wounds on Geralt’s chest. She turned to ask Jaskier to hold on to the baby a bit longer and saw that she didn’t need to. He was absolutely captivated by her, swaying gently back in forth in front of the fire and—was he singing?

_“Daisies and buttercups, lovely are ye,_

_Daisies and buttercups, seeming to be_

_Drifting and swaying on meadowy sea,_

_Nodding and bending and bowing to me,_

_Ye wave o’er the billowy, flowery lea.”_

He was just begging to be teased, but she would save it for later. She had no idea he was this good with children. Jaskier suddenly looked up, realizing she had been watching him. His face flushed.

“I, uh…It’s important for babies to hear good singing, you know,” Jaskier said, defensively. “They need to develop a sense of pitch in their early childhood so they don’t look like fools if they’re ever asked to carry a tune.”

Yennefer smiled. “As long as it’s all dandelions and buttercups. None of your songs about abortion, if you please.”

Jaskier took mock-offense at that. “What kind of godfather do you take me for?”

“Who said anything about ‘godfather’?” Geralt said, tiredly. Yennefer finished wrapping his chest wounds and began washing the blood from his thighs and nether regions.

“I did,” Jaskier said, his focus back on the child in his arms. “Isn’t that right my little Daisy?”

Geralt glared in his direction. “Don’t call her that.”

“Oh? And why not? I think it suits the little Daisy-girl.

“We’re not calling her after a stupid fucking _flower_ ,” Geralt growled.

“I take offense to that,” Jaskier declared.

“Good, you were supposed to.”

“Can you two give it a rest and _please_ stop cursing in front of the fucking baby?” Yennefer said. She didn’t seem to notice her own slip of the tongue.

“He’s trying to insert himself into her life, and we both agreed we weren’t going to give her a fucking _flower name._ ”

“It’s true,” she looked at Jaskier apologetically, “We did decide on no flower names. However,” her eyes twinkled, “I seem to remember a conversation in which we agreed Jaskier would be our first choice for godfather.”

 _“Hm.”_ Geralt grunted. “I must have been drunk for that one.”

“You haven’t been drunk since before you got pregnant,” Yennefer reminded him.

“Wait, you’re—are you serious?”

Geralt and Yennefer looked back at Jaskier, who already had tears spilling from his eyes.

“I—I was just joking,” the bard said, pulling another handkerchief from one of his many pockets and dabbing at his eyes. “You really mean it? What you said?”

“Of course we meant it,” Yennefer said. She gently nudged Geralt, who rolled his eyes and nodded reluctantly.

“Welcome to the family,” said the witcher.

The cabin door suddenly swung open and a gust of unnatural icy wind blew in, putting out the fire. Yennefer and Geralt exchanged terrified looks.

The abandoned bath and several bowls of bloody water began to boil.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Jaskier. I couldn’t help it.

Steam was beginning to fill the room again, slowly at first. Yennefer rushed over to relight the fire.

“Er, care to explain what all this is?” Jaskier asked, looking from mage to witcher. Yennefer looked to Geralt as well.

“You killed it. It…It’s still dead, right?” She eyed the bloody corpse still lying in the middle of the room.

“I definitely killed it, which means this may be his mate,” Geralt said. He was trying and failing to sit up straighter in the bed; the pain and exhaustion were clearly winning.

“A _female_ bannick?”

Geralt nodded. “They’re rare. Bannicks don’t reproduce sexually; they’re all former humans, just like striga. They are generally very territorial, but will sometimes take mates purely for companionship.”

“And what does she want? Revenge? What are these things generally after?” Jaskier asked.

“Bannicks are creatures that would prefer to be appeased rather than attack. They will usually accept an offering like soap or perfumes. This one’s pretty angry though, it’s going to want more than that, something big…” He and Yennefer both reached the conclusion at the same time.

“Yen, my sword,” Geralt rasped. He had meant to sound commanding, but had failed miserably.

“You can barely lift your own head! And I broke your pelvis in two places; you’re in no condition to be standing, much less fighting!”

An inhuman shriek suddenly echoed throughout the cabin. The second bannick had taken on a corporeal form, this one in the shape of an old hag, bare breasts sagging and overgrown claws shining sharp and dangerous in the light of the fire. She held the dead bannick in her spindly arms, her shrieks turning to keens as she rocked back and forth in an intense display of mourning.

Geralt looked at Yennefer, desperation in his eyes.

 _“…they have a tendency to steal infants born in their domain.”_ His words of a few hours ago echoed in her mind. Geralt was always telling her how it was better to appease a monster than to fight it. They had killed this one’s mate. There was no appeasing it with anything less than a newborn child.

 _Shit._ That was why Geralt looked so terrified. They only had moments to act before the bannick would turn its sights from mourning to revenge.

 _“Jaskier,”_ Yennefer whispered urgently. Fortunately, the bard heard her and met her eyes.

 _“Hide her,”_ Yennefer mouthed.

Jaskier nodded, pulling his silk shirt open and pressing the child against his bare chest. He subtly reached for the travel cloak hanging off a nearby chair and pulled it around himself, fastening the clasp on the front.

The bannick finally looked up, sniffing the air like a dog on a hunt. Yennefer saw it eyeing the bloodied sheets and cloths, then its gaze fell on Geralt, his skin pale and beaded with sweat in the cool air of the room.

 _She knows,_ Yennefer realized. The bannick _lived_ in bathhouses. It had seen countless women give birth; it wouldn’t be fooled by the fact that this new parent was a man.

The bannick opened its mouth and spoke to Geralt in a voice raspy from age and disuse.

_“Where is the bairn?”_

Yennefer summoned real tears to her eyes and spoke up.

“Stillborn. This man’s body was not made for childbearing. The babe got stuck and suffocated.”

 _“Where is it?”_ the hag repeated, dangerously.

“Burned. In the way of my people, to save its soul.”

The bannick growled in anger.

 _“You lie,”_ she accused.

“What reason do I have to lie? If we had the child, we would give it to you that you might spare us. Do you doubt this?”

The bannick’s laugh was coarse and wheezing.

_“Mothers do not give up so easily. How unusual that he carried it for you. He has paid dearly for your sake.”_

Yennefer looked back at Geralt. He had never looked more wolf-like than he did now. His golden eyes were flashing and his teeth were bared in a vicious snarl of pain and rage. He was like a wounded animal, cornered and ready to fight to the death. The bannick must have noticed the resemblance.

 _“Papa wolf still thinks he can protect his cub,”_ she mocked.

“I’ve already told you, the baby is _dead._ Tell us what it will take for you to leave us in peace,” Yennefer demanded.

The bannick smiled wickedly, then tilted its head back and shrieked. Yennefer and Geralt clamped their hands over their ears while Jaskier winced at the awful sound.

The bannick ceased its cry, and the sound was immediately replaced by an infant’s wail. The room began rapidly filling with steam as the bannick identified the source of the noise and whirled toward Jaskier. The bard dropped to his knees, curling around the precious bundle held against his chest.

Yennefer screamed and hurled a petrification spell at the bannick as it descended on Jaskier. She heard a muffled, _human_ cry of pain through the dense cloud of steam. She had missed. The bannick had gotten to Jaskier and the baby.

 _“No!”_ she shouted, banishing the steam with one hand and reaching down for Geralt’s sword with the other. She charged toward the place where she had last seen them. She found the bannick brutally clawing at Jaskier’s back while he remained curled up on the floor, whimpering at each strike that fell.

“Get the _fuck_ off of him!” she shrieked, hurling another petrification spell. The bannick dodged, then immediately returned to continue its vicious assault on the helpless bard.

“Fight _me,_ you gutless, baby-stealing fuck!” Yennefer screamed. She swung the sword, and the bannick dodged again, finally giving up its attack on Jaskier to turn on Yennefer. This bannick was clearly faster and stronger than the last, but it didn’t seem to be able to control the steam while attacking at the same time. As long as she kept it busy, it wouldn’t be able to blind them.

The bannick leapt at her, moving far faster than any old woman should be able to, her bloody, taloned fingers flashing. Yennefer just barely twisted out of the way, earning a rough tear in her skirt.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Yennefer goaded the monster while backing away, trying to lead it away from Geralt and Jaskier. The bannick refused to be tricked. It also backed away from Yennefer, putting Jaskier between them again.

 _“I offer a simple trade,”_ the bannick spoke again. _“The bairn for your pathetic lives. It is more than you deserve after what you took from me.”_

“You cannot have my daughter. _And you_ _will not touch my family again_ ,” Yennefer vowed.

 _“Then this one will be the first to die.”_ The bannick raised a clawed hand over Jaskier’s still form.

Yennefer looked past the bannick and mouthed the word, _“Now!”_

The bannick’s eyes went wide as an unseen force thrust it forward. It tripped over Jaskier almost comically, landing heavily on the floor. Yennefer leapt up and thrust down, putting her full weight into the stab through the bannick’s back. The sword went through all the way down to the hilt.

The monster screeched in a furious agony. It tried to get up but it was pinned to the floor. It only succeeded in further wounding itself on the silver sword. Yennefer ripped the sword out and backed away. The bannick screamed again, a gout of dark blood spilling from its lips. It began to twist left and right with no care for the extra damage it was causing itself. It finally managed to reach out in Jaskier’s direction.

_“I shall leave a curse upon this bairn for her mother’s insolence!”_

“Not on _my_ daughter, you fucking _CUNT!”_

Yennefer swung the sword down with little finesse and no shortage of rage. She had intended to behead it, but managed to chop its head in half instead. She was pleased enough with that outcome.

The bannick went still, its blood spreading on the floor beneath it.

Yennefer smiled at Geralt, who was still lying on the bed, one hand outstretched. It had been his sign that had thrown the bannick off balance. He nodded back at her, dropping his hand and exhaling heavily.

Yennefer heard a soft groan of pain. _Jaskier._ She dropped the sword and rushed over to the bard.

He was lying on his side, his eyes shut tight and his breath coming in short, trembling gasps like a wounded rabbit. His arms were crossed over his chest, still holding the newborn against him in a protective embrace.

“No…No, no, no, no,” Yennefer murmured, dropping to her knees beside him. With shuddering hands she carefully pulled her daughter from his arms, checking her over for injuries. Finding none, she placed her safely out of the way. She rolled Jaskier over onto his stomach and gasped in shock. His back was a mess of blood. The cloak and his shirt were torn to pieces, barely hanging on by a few threads here and there. There were gashes of various lengths and sizes all over his back. Several of the cuts went down to the bone.

“Yen? Is he all right?” Geralt asked, straining to see.

Yennefer gave him an agonized look and shook her head, eyes rapidly filling with tears. It was bad. It was very, _very_ bad.

“Jaskier, can you hear me?” she called, her voice wavering. There was a soft whimper in response. Jaskier’s eyes slowly flickered open.

“…Is Daisy all right?” he rasped. “I—I tried to keep her safe, but I think I may have fallen asleep…”

“She’s perfectly fine. You were so _brave,_ Jaskier,” Yennefer said. She couldn’t help it; she was crying. The bard saw her tears.

“…I’m in a pretty bad way, aren’t I?” Jaskier said, barely above a whisper.

“You got pretty torn up, but I’m going to fix you up good as new.”

“It’s all right, it doesn’t really hurt now. I am a bit cold, though. Is—is this what dying feels like?”

“No, it’s not. Because you’re not going to die,” Yennefer insisted.

Jaskier did not respond.

Yennefer tore the remains of the cloak and shirt off of him, wadded them up, and began pressing them where the bleeding was heaviest.

“Quickly, Geralt, toss me that Swallow potion,” Yennefer said, gesturing to the one remaining potion on the table beside the bed.

“Yen—” Geralt started, his voice pained.

“I said quickly! He’s _bleeding_ , damn it!” Yennefer snapped.

“Yen, this potion is as likely to kill him as his wounds are. Perhaps more,” Geralt said, now holding the Swallow potion tightly in his hand. “It would be like drinking poison to him.”

“But would it stop his bleeding?” Yennefer demanded.

Geralt seemed to hesitate a moment before nodding slowly.

“Then it’s our only choice,” Yennefer said. “He’s dying, Geralt.”

Geralt shakily stood, despite Yennefer’s protests that he should be doing no such thing, and with a pained grimace stumbled over to where Jaskier lay. He was dismayed to see that the wounds were even worse than Yennefer had led him to believe. He lowered himself down, wincing, and handed Yennefer the potion. She didn’t hesitate, uncorking it and lifting Jaskier up.

“I need you to drink this, love,” Yennfer said. Jaskier opened his eyes again.

“N-never had one of those before,” he slurred. “Geralt wouldn’t let me, even when I had the most terrible headache.”

“Well, today’s a special occasion,” Yennefer said. Jaskier opened his mouth and Yennefer helped him drink the entire contents of the vial while Geralt watched, helpless. Yennefer turned Jaskier back over and resumed pressure on the nastiest of his wounds. The bleeding almost immediately slowed, and some of the shallower wounds had already begun to scab over.

“I’m going to move him to the bed,” Yennefer said. Geralt stood to help her. “No, don’t—” she objected, but there was no stopping him. They carried him, his feet dragging against the wood floor, over to the bed, where Yennefer hastily removed the blood-stained sheets before helping Geralt lay him gently down onto the soft mattress. Geralt gingerly sat down beside him, panting from the minor exertion his body simply wasn’t recovered enough for.

The newborn, still wrapped up on the floor, began to cry. Yennefer hastily went for her, gathering her up in her arms.

“ _Shh, shh,_ ” Yennefer soothed, lightly bouncing the child.

“Bring her here,” Geralt said, holding his arms out. Yennefer returned to the bed and handed her over to the witcher, who cradled her in his left elbow. The infant continued to cry.

“Is she cold?” Yennefer questioned, returning to Jaskier’s still form on the other side of the bed.

“Cold? No. She’s hungry. This business with the bannick has delayed her first meal by more than she’s willing to excuse.”

“I’ll prepare her a bottle in a moment. I need to see to Jaskier first.”

Geralt nodded. The child had time. The bard might not.

Yennefer checked the wounds on Jaskier’s back again, pleased to see that only the deepest ones would need sewing now that the potion had stopped most of the bleeding. She quickly got busy cleaning, stitching, and bandaging for the third time in as many hours.

“You should change your profession from mage to seamstress,” Geralt said, watching her work. Yennefer offered him a wry smile.

“Doesn’t pay enough,” she said. “All of my customers so far have skipped out on the bill.”

“I gave birth to your child,” Geralt pointed out.

“Fair enough,” Yennefer conceded.

She rolled Jaskier from his stomach onto his side and then froze in horror. Jaskier’s skin had turned the color of ash and his eyes now looked like deep bruises. Thin, black, spider-like veins were traveling up his throat and onto his cheeks.

“Geralt, his face!” she gasped.

“I saw,” Geralt said, sounding concerned but not surprised. “His body isn’t accustomed to alchemical mixtures like mine is. The potion has infected his blood.”

“I poisoned him,” Yennefer said, softly. “You warned me, but I did it anyway. He saved our daughter and I poisoned him.”

“You saved his life,” Geralt corrected. “Through the only means available, vile as it was.”

Jaskier suddenly gasped and coughed several times. Yennefer placed one hand on his shoulder, combing the other through his hair in a soothing gesture.

“ _Shh,_ it’s all right. You’re all right,” she murmured. She gave a Geralt a stricken, helpless look. The witcher just nodded at her, unable to offer anything else.

“Y-Yen—” Jaskier rasped.

“I’m here,” Yennefer said, fighting to hide the way her voice trembled.

“Yennefer…What—” He coughed again, painfully.

“Rest, Jaskier. Please. You need to be still,” Yennefer begged.

Jaskier grimaced and suddenly lurched forward, vomiting a thick stream of blood tinged with black.

“What…What did you do to me?” Jaskier asked. He coughed again, more blackened blood spilling from his lips.

Yennefer looked back at Geralt.

“Tell me I did not just prolong his suffering. Tell me I did not force him into a slower, more painful death. Tell me, Geralt!”

Geralt could not meet her eyes. “You made an impossible choice, and faster than I would have. We will know by morning if you made the right one.”

The infant in the witcher’s arms continued to cry.


End file.
